A Lesson in Love and War
by kittykatloren
Summary: But, perhaps, after all that she and Haar had been through together, the wars and the arguments and the tears, their trust and solidarity had changed somewhere along the line. The thought sent a peculiar tingle through her soul. FE10; Jill/Haar oneshot.


**A/N: **This a long, pretty plotty oneshot, with a touch of romance at the end. It takes place after RD, when Haar and Jill are running their wyvern delivery service again. This is just a scene that I imagined could be the catalyst for their relationship to change - Haar's lazy and wouldn't change anything without good reason, and Jill's youn, so I can't see her making the first step as easily. But anyway, it'll make sense when you read it. I hope.

As always, please leave a review, I love each and every one so much!

**Words: **2890  
**Characters:** Jill, Haar  
**Time: **Anytime after_ Radiant Dawn_  
**Genre:** Drama/Romance

**Disclaimer: **Everything you recognize belongs to Nintendo, not me.

* * *

Her hands ached over the reins. So high in the night sky, the air was frosty and bitter, and her fingers were frozen into a fist, rough leather cutting into her palms. Deciding that she could take it no longer, Jill jerked her head at Haar and shouted over the gale of their mounts' wings.

"We've made good distance. Let's set up camp somewhere!"

Haar gave a short nod. They dove as one to the ground, barely exchanging a glance to time their descent so the large package rigged between them wouldn't shudder or hit the ground too harshly. They had very few deliveries this large and heavy. Normally, they ran their errands on their own, meeting in Talrega and pooling their earnings and planning the next few deliveries together. But every now and then, they received a transportation request for something too massive for one wyvern alone, so they hooked up the package in a harness between their mounts and set off on a delivery together.

With the familiar ease of pattern and practice, Jill unloaded their food and bedrolls from their extra packs while Haar scouted out the best wood for a fire and the softest patches of ground for their beds. A little brook bubbled briskly behind them.

"I claim this spot," Haar said at last, collapsing onto a stretch of thick grass. "Ah, the bliss of sleep calls."

"As if you haven't already been sleeping for the past four hours," Jill scolded.

"No need to sound so harsh. I did my job, didn't I? I deserve the most comfortable ground I can find in this shabby little forest."

"How noble of you."

Yawning a little bit herself, Jill set to work starting the fire, for Haar had at least gathered sufficient firewood and tinder, dry stuff that lit well after barely two sparks from her flint. Her hands were still quite numb and painful as she thawed them by the flickering flames. The fire cut through the night and woke Haar from his nap for just long enough to set up his bedroll, eat a little dry supper, and close his eyes with barely a word of goodnight. Jill sighed and shook her head, but also smiled, rather accustomed to his charmingly lethargic antics.

She let the fire simmer itself down to hot embers. She could barely see two armlengths in front of her, and all she could hear were the natural rustles of the wilderness. Consciously, she forced herself to relax, wondering if Haar ever really slept as soundly as he seemed to, and if so, what it would be like to be carefree enough to sleep anywhere in the world as soundly as if wrapped in the finest of blankets.

The long day of flying finally began to take its toll on her. One of their wyverns snorted in its sleep from the edge of their campsite. Jill yawned, on the verge of finally lying down to sleep herself, when a rustle in the bushes behind her caught her attention. _Perhaps it's a rabbit, and I can catch us some fresh meat for tomorrow,_ she thought, glancing at Haar's snoozing shadow in the darkness. She forced herself to stay very, very still.

Without warning, something hard slammed into the side of her head, setting sparks through her vision and sending her sprawling into the grass. Before she could shout, a rough, dirty-smelling hand covered her mouth, another hand grabbing her by her hair.

"Ar, we've caught ourselves a _fine_ one 'ere," a scratchy voice drawled against her ear. The man's breath was like rancid carrion.

"She'll be bound to 'ave some gold on 'er, right?"

_Bandits, _Jill thought, terrified._ Two of them._ At once, her mind spun into the unconscious calm of battle, and yet, in that haze of serenity, she realized in one heart-stopping second that she had no weapon on her, none at all. Her axe was strapped to her saddle, her knives were tossed lazily by the cooking supplies. The wyverns – they slept like babies and blended in with the surroundings; the men probably had no idea that they were there. And Haar – he was asleep, these men were talking quietly, he wouldn't know –

"Ay, mate, gold an' more!"

With a muffled laugh, one of the men – the one with his hand over her mouth – grabbed her by the waist with his free arm, his hand snaking underneath her linen tunic. Instinctively Jill kicked, trying to push him away, trashing with all of her might, her heart drumming wildly out of rhythm. Neither bandit's grip loosened. Behind her, the man with his hand on her ponytail yanked her head sharply to the side and chuckled at her gasp of pain.

"You keep nice and quiet now, y'hear, little missy?" he cackled. A curved dagger flashed in the bottom of her vision, and she felt a cool prick at her neck. "Or we'll 'ave to keep you quiet ourselves! No fightin' spirit from you!"

All Jill could see through the night was the towering shadow in front of her, its eyes merely two specks of narrowed, dull light. But all her other senses seemed sharper than ever: the stink of sweat surrounding her; the foul, muddy taste in her mouth. She could hear each of her captors' shuddering, excited breaths. And even more than that, she could _feel_. The heat of their bodies so close to hers swamped her with waves of bitter nausea, their careless hands scraped against her skin and traced their way over her hips, her stomach, her chest. Involuntarily, she jerked away from the touch, and froze only when the knife at her neck pricked a little bit harder at her skin, drawing blood.

"'E told you, no fightin', bitch!" the man in front of her growled. With a swift movement, he grabbed the collar of her tunic and tore it down to her chest. "Yer goin' to pay fer not listenin' to us, you little - "

The man's words were cut off with a strangled gasp, and suddenly Jill was free; both bandits had released her. Through the gloom she could make out Haar, his hands on the taller bandit's shoulders; he had just yanked him off of her.

"She's not alone!" one of them shouted. "Ar, get back an' run, mate, she got 'erself a – a – "

The taller bandit drew a knife of his own, but Jill saw the silvery flash of the blade, and it was trembling. His companion had stumbled behind her in his flight. And then – before Jill could even blink – Haar's fist slammed into the bandit's face, sending him sprawling. With a futile yell, the man scrambled to his feet, striking out blindly with his knife. But he was no match for Haar.

Jill saw them standing, frozen, as if they were embracing. The moment seemed to last far longer it should have. It wasn't like the heat of battle, where soldiers and killers seemed to fly through their work as if each hour were fleeting like a minute, each minute like a second, all those who perished on their weapons faceless, empty beings. No, this was cold, infinite, and personal.

Haar jerked his arm back. In his hand was a dagger of his own, coated in blood that was almost as dark as the night. The bandit crumpled to the ground, gasping, his hands over his stomach. And then, after another endless second, he was silent. _Everything_ was silent.

Dimly Jill realized her arms were shaking. Nevertheless, she stepped across the remains of her fire to where Haar was standing quite stilly over the man he had just killed. Haar wiped his blade on his shirt and sheathed it, glaring at her all the while.

"I thought I'd trained a soldier, not a helpless damsel in distress," he muttered through clenched teeth. "Just because it's peacetime does _not_ mean you can be so careless that you don't even carry a weapon on you."

"I – I didn't realize," she stammered out, the anger behind his words slashing into her heart. Her neck stung suddenly, and quickly she wiped away the blood and felt the cut. It was very shallow. "I didn't remember, I'm a fool, I…" Jill stared from him to the dead bandit, speechless.

Without looking at her, Haar motioned bleakly to the ground. "You're used to war and chaos, Jill. You're used to bodies either left on the battlefield or burned in a pyre that's blind to nation or honor. But this is what death is really like. It's as simple as it is dirty."

Jill nodded mutely as Haar grunted and lifted the body over his shoulders. He disappeared into the bushes and didn't return for what seemed like ages. He was empty-handed and white-faced from exertion when he came back.

"What did you do with it?" she said, almost fearing the answer.

"Threw it down a little ravine with some rocks for a blanket. Not even the vultures could find him now. I didn't see the other one; he ran fast."

Haar was staring fixedly at the simmering embers. Jill walked over to him, throwing glances up at him out of the corner of her gaze, and finally she caught his eye. She could easily make out the concern in his expression, barely hidden by shadows and half-cooled anger. But he simply nodded at her in return, his face suddenly as smooth as a mask. "Your shirt's torn."

"Oh," said Jill, blushing, suddenly rather appreciative of the semi-darkness. Her fingers still shook a little as she struggled to hold the tear together. Haar smiled faintly at her and shrugged his arms as if to stretch, then winced. Jill's senses flared at once. "What's wrong? Why did you - ?"

"It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

"Haar, are you hurt? Did he get you? He did, didn't he?! Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's just a scratch," he muttered, trying to push her outstretched hands away, but a small gasp at the movement betrayed him. "Ah, Jill, it's nothing, don't bother - "

"Oh, I will bother," she said determinedly. "You're hurt because of me. So of course I'm going to _bother, _with or without your help!"

Before he could protest again, she placed her hands firmly on his chest, ignoring her own billowing shirt. Between the night and his dark clothes, she couldn't see anything, much less a rip or a stain of blood. So she slid her palms down a little bit, his heartbeat under her fingertips now. Like an amateur healer, she let her fingers drift over his chest and stomach, searching for the injury, for he remained doggedly uncooperative. Even through his shirt, she could his feel heavy breaths, powerful muscles, and the smooth, raised lines of a few old scars.

And then she found it. Her hands twitched at the sickly warmth; Haar's blood stuck to her fingertips like a plague. The cut seemed to stretch in a jagged line from his side to his stomach, and all of it was still wet with fresh blood.

"Why didn't you say something?" Jill breathed, appalled.

"I don't mind little things like this. Barely felt it."

"Don't lie to me," she grumbled. Pulling his arm around her shoulder – not that her small stature could provide him much support – she led Haar to the little creek and pressed his shoulders down as hard as she could until he finally agreed to sit down, smiling at her effort.

"Can I lie down?" he asked.

"You're such a child sometimes," Jill muttered, kneeling beside him. "Yes. Lie down, and give me your shirt."

For once, he did as he was told. A grimace of pain flashed across his face. The cut was much clearer against his skin than it had been against his clothes, and Jill could see that she had been right – the slash was strangely jagged, but not too deep nor too long. Just a painful inconvenience. Bunching up his shirt, Jill dipped it into the creek and began to wash the blood from his skin, dabbing very carefully once she reached the wound itself. Haar's one good eye was following her every movement, and she could _feel_ it, making her blush again, a silly damsel just like Haar had said. Ripping a corner of her own shirt – belatedly conscious of the _other_ rip in the fabric – Jill wiped the cut clean, hurried to their bags for salve and bandages, and then fixed him up as best she could. On impulse, she washed his face and his hands as well.

When she was done, her hands lingering on his skin out of habit, Haar sat up, leaning back against his elbows. Jill was suddenly struck by his proximity, the easy intimacy between them, her hands that were still tinted pink by the blood that the stream hadn't been able to wash from her skin.

"I suppose rescuing a helpless maiden has its upsides, does it not?" he yawned, the corner of his mouth twitching in a lazy grin. "I'd have never gotten this kind of treatment if you'd taken care of those guys yourself."

Jill poked him in the chest. "Go back to sleep, Haar."

"Gladly. But, believe it or not, there's something I've got to first do that trumps even sleeping."

"A miracle! I never thou- "

But before she could finish her sentence, Haar cut her off with a kiss, his hand at the nape of her neck and his lips pressed warmly against hers. The touch was sudden and smooth, and for a moment, Jill froze, thrilled and shocked and terrified in equal measure. Her heart pounded in her chest, racing out of pure exhilaration. Instinctively she knew what to do. Once her body began to listen to her mind again, she touched Haar's cheek, his tangled hair, the line of his jaw to his neck and collar and shoulders. She felt him smile, his free hand resting on her waist, the other busy untying the band around her hair. The moment her hair tumbled free in a wild cascade was the moment that she had to pull away to breathe.

Haar's gaze flicked between each of her eyes, as if each of them revealed something different of her thoughts. She could do no more than stare at him, winded, her hair tickling the side of her face. He took a moment to rest his forehead against hers, sharing her breaths. His hand tangled tightly in her hair.

"They could have killed you if you'd been alone," he whispered, his lips very close to hers. "They'd have taken you, and killed you when they were done, and I never would have heard a word from you again. I never would have known what happened to you."

"I'm sorry," Jill said. Her voice trembled a little bit, and she shook her head rapidly. "I'll never be so careless again. Never. I promise, Haar."

Haar kissed her lightly on the lips, then on the nose, cheek, forehead, and back to her lips. "Say it again," he ordered.

"I promise, Haar," she whispered. His lips had found their way to her neck and collarbone, and she could barely breathe for the thrill of desire at his touch.

She placed her hands on his shoulders to steady herself as Haar lifted her onto his lap, kissing her lips again, hands gripping her waist. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, inwardly exulting in her new height advantage. All thoughts of the past hour vanished, leaving her with nothing but a powerful awareness of the present. His hands gently cradled her elbows, then slid up to her shoulders, deftly slipping off her torn shirt so it fell smoothly to her waist when she lifted her arms. Haar traced his hands along her bare sides, her stomach, her breasts. His breath was hot against her neck.

Now it was her turn to kiss him, full of passion. She let her fingers drift over his chest one more time – halting once they reached the patch of fresh bandages. Gasping, she forced herself to pull away from him.

"Haar, you're still hurt – you shouldn't - "

"Quiet," he murmured, pressing his hand to her lips. "I've never felt better. Trust me."

Jill accepted his words without question. In all her years in the army, surrounded by men soldiers, she had never allowed herself this kind of closeness, this intimacy, for she had always been so focused on her training and her pride as a soldier. Haar was the only man she had ever truly known, truly trusted, and the first and truest friend she had ever had, and yet she had never considered anything beyond a childish infatuation. Out of nowhere, she remembered a scene from her childhood, how she had fancied herself in love with Sir Haar when she was ten years old, and both Haar and Shiharam had laughed at a little girl's impossible dreams.

But, perhaps, after all that she and Haar had been through together, the wars and the arguments and the tears, their trust and solidarity had changed somewhere along the line. The thought sent a peculiar tingle through her soul.

"Haar… I've never… I need you to teach me," she mumbled, suddenly shy. "Teach me how to love, because I've never done it before."

"Never loved? You've loved me since you were ten."

"The different kind of love," she shot back, smiling, her fears vanishing with the return of their familiar banter. She touched his belt and tucked her fingers under the rough leather. "Teach me this kind of love, Haar."

There was a pause as Haar gazed warmly at her, his lips tilted in a smile. He laid her back against the soft grass and leaned down to kiss her ear.

"Gladly."


End file.
